


Raise Me Up on Broken Wings

by Airmid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/M, Michael Possessing John Winchester, POV Michael (Supernatural), Past John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Pre-Season/Series 01, Protective Mary Winchester, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airmid/pseuds/Airmid
Summary: Each time they were placed together, all John Winchester and Mary Campbell did was bicker themselves into a separation and the ever-increasing number of Cupids involved with each attempt only brought marginal improvement.Michael sought to rectify this so that his long journey and the salvation of the family he had left could be finished. Even if that meant posing as the man himself to play house with the woman that will deliver his destiny.But, souls sing, flesh corrupts, and forgiveness is always in short supply.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Mary Winchester & Sam Winchester, Michael/Mary Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Raise Me Up on Broken Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Michael is using John as his vessel, which creates a massive consent issue for Mary. This is not meant to be a Stockholm Syndrome piece.
> 
> The jumping-off point is set during the end of Michael's speech to Dean in season five's The Song Remains the Same, but the story itself is set in that time period, so really pre-series. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.

* * *

The boy stood before him broken yet refusing and it took a certain kind of stupid, though humans called it bravery, to act in such a way. It was easy enough to send them back to their starting point, even if he was tempted to send them into the arms of his future self. He knew, at least partially, how they were running free from Heaven's gaze, the heavy wards sunk into their bones. It was admirable even in its futility.

Little buzzy balls of uselessness really, too insignificant to be hated, and too small to even care for.

Mary was unconscious still at his feet and he could feel Dean's desperation leaking through. Poor little Sam impaled on a pipe, mommy on the floor. At least she was tolerable, as this little hiccup had almost cost him the whole set up and it was tiring to refold time to get it right. Though given the boy's obstinacy, it wasn't perfect. He would watch closer this time around. Lucifer was as delinquent as always and why he had not just claimed the boy at his rising Michael did not know but it worked to his favor.

Besides, Morning Star had always liked to play with his meals.

As long as they believed he was from their time-period and not already here, there would be no harm. The feeling of the vice, the one set upon them all, tightened in him. Crouching down he touched Sam, willing him back through the path he had traveled, healed and whole.

“He's home. Safe and sound,” he purred watching his vessel flinch at those words. “Your turn. I'll see you soon, Dean.” He forgave himself for relishing the fear in those eyes before he flicked his hand, sending him back.

As Mary slumbered on, he took a look around, waving a hand to fully erase the sigils, the signs of life that decorated this place. Anael had always been willful but apparently, he had let it go on unpunished for too long. 

“Our sons are disobedient, Mary,” he told her form, squatting next to her. At least she had a purpose, some sort of fight in her. Rather useless for her kind but it set her a bit above, making him not fully detest his time with her. “I would blame that on you. Though I do have to say being myself and not your dribble of a devoted husband for a few minutes is refreshing.”

He rolled his head, enjoying the feel of the muscle stretching, his grace aching at the confines. It had been too long before John’s death since he had been on earth to be used to such a thing.

“I'll be home soon, my love,” he continued as he touched her forehead. “Just a few things to clean up around town.”

Her body gone, returned to their bed with all her memories rearranged. There was one larger anomaly to fix and he flew, landing quietly in a rather large hotel room with a décor even he would take the time to call gaudy. He believed humans would call such a thing a love nest, given the large heart-shaped bed, but that was not what he was here for.

No, he was here for the angel on the bed.

“Little Castiel,” he said sitting next to his brother who was suffering, wounded, and bleeding out. “You're falling yet you would risk so much to help them? You were always so loyal, devout to Father's plans, and longing for his love.”

The angel lay still, deep in the agony of what he had done to himself to be here. Carefully, Michael ebbed the flow of grace, sealed off the wounds he had inflicted upon himself. If he was curious, he would look into the time stream but their final destination was forever fated.

Those eyes opened, taking him in, but they were devoid of fear or awe. Instead, they held some sort of resolution, resigned to whatever the archangel would do to him for there was no way to fight. Something bothered him about that, that this angel out of the entire Choir would be so hopeless and beaten. That in all potential futures he had seen, Castiel was always present. He pressed two fingers to the vessel's forehead, wiping away the last few seconds before pushing him back to whence he came.

It was not as though those answers mattered, he decided, returning to Mary after making sure the rest of Anael's rampage had been cleansed.

At least the brat had let him live a little.

* * *

“Good morning,” Mary said, pressing her lips against his before going to get a cup of coffee, her robe open to show her nightgown still on underneath. Fortunately, she didn't question his lack of sex drive as he tended to keep long hours at work, as mind-numbing as it was. Outside of creating the vessels, he had no want to particularly touch her but he had to.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Very. Have to go in early again today?”

“Yeah, Vince called in again.”

She clucked her tongue at that and he smiled at her judgment. Everything seemed fine, it had been a few days and he waited for her to tell him that she was pregnant. In many ways, he wished he could just be here for the conception and then leave, letting John take over for the rest of this mundane life but the man could not be trusted. How he picked a fight with her at every turn he would never know no matter the number of cupid's involved. It was why he was in heaven and safely out of the way until everything was finalized.

That dimwitted demon had done him a great favor by giving him a bartering chip though. A dead John was a much more willing John, even if there was a delay on accepting the yes, much to the man’s displeasure.

“I should probably get going.”

“Alright,” there was something in her voice and he glanced over and his grace sighed. She was lonely, her cup on the counter as she stared out the window.

To keep everything on track, he went to her, kissing her deeply, opening her mouth and she pressed warm and hot against him. Watching his strength he backed her up into the counter and lifted her, feeling her leg wrap around his hip.

“You'll be late,” she got out as he worked his way down her neck, willing his vessel to react to the feel of this. “Don't want to be like that laze about.”

“True,” he told her, watching her hooded eyes, knowing she was dying for his touch. There was something satisfying in that. “Later then.”

“Mmm,” was all she managed as he freed himself and got out the door, glad to win another reprieve.

He'd rather not have to sully his hands in their filth more than he had to.

* * *

“John?” She was standing there uncertain and he knew this was the moment. The first of two and he made himself concerned, reached for her hand which she took without hesitation.

“What's wrong?”

“Not wrong,” she said, sliding into his lap, the recliner easily holding them both. He could smell dinner cooking as he was supposed to be relaxing after getting home on time for once. “It's just – I'm pregnant.”

“Oh,” he breathed and she stared at him worried and he pulled her close. “Mary.”

She was already kissing him and he answered, allowing her to touch him. He wondered what something like her would say if she knew what she was really touching. Her small hands were working under his shirt, clever and quick, most likely a leftover from her days as a hunter, a secret she refused to share.

“What about -”

“Thirty minutes,” she said against his mouth as she straddled him and he knew he needed to please her, make her feel loved.

There was still Sam to think about after all.

* * *

Watching a human woman pregnant was more trouble than it was worth most days. There were moments where she was just absolutely joyous and glowed and others were she lashed out at him or was vomiting. She should count herself fortunate that he didn't snap her like the brittle twig she was and wondered how his vessel could cause such disruption. Other animals didn't show this big of a propensity for such behavior.

Most other animals also lacked thumbs and an affinity for decade long wars.

She was laying on her side, her breathing even and peaceful as he listened to Heaven to make sure Raphael could handle things. Not that his little brother knew he was alone during these past few years as Michael was so rarely seen that he might as well as be. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t give orders just as easily from this human body as he could from the upper reaches.

She stirred beside him and when he ran his hand down her looking for the issue he felt it. The small kick and for a moment he almost thought 'my son'. It was a sign that he had been here too long already, their dirt a far cry from the light of Heaven when Dean kicked again and she woke a little more.

“Ready to come already,” she murmured sleepily, her voice a lace of happiness and there was a strange sensation in him.

Stroking her belly with his thumb put her back to sleep, Dean still kicking and he had a fleeting thought that perhaps the boy was already actively fighting him. It seemed what he was determined to do in the future, it would not surprise him it would start in the womb. At least his vessel was a warrior, not even on earth yet and active.

He smiled into the back of her neck, listening to the orders of Heaven as she slept on.

* * *

Water breaking was too nice of a term, he decided as he sat in the stiff molded plastic chair of the waiting room on the maternity ward. There was something about these creatures, something off-putting in their sheer physicality that set him ill at ease. They just splattered their bodily fluids everywhere whenever one's head was turned and this time it was considered normal. If he was one to question he would wonder why his Father made them the way he did. But he was not, so he watched the other men pace and twitch in a bundle of nerves that made him want to knock them out of existence.

The constant moving was beginning to get to him. It was worse than his little brothers constantly moving about Heaven since at least they had a purpose. In these humans, it was a strange form of energy that he would forever fail at truly copying.

“Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes,” he said, standing, trying for an easy hopeful smile at the man coming towards him in scrubs. It had been hours since any real news and it was distasteful having to appear as though he had human needs here.

“It is a boy. You can go see them now.”

Her room was at the end of a hall, a small quiet oasis amidst all the bustle of the staff. She was sitting up in bed, holding their child looking ragged but with that strange glow she had had towards the end of her pregnancy. The nurse was just leaving, as his wife smiled at him, tired.

For the first time, he realized she was beautiful.

“Look, John,” she said as he came to her, carefully sitting on the edge of her bed to not disturb them too much. “Look what we did.”

The tiny form was handed to him, scrunched up face all red, head covered in a soft cap. The skin so fragile he could see the veins that ran beneath with just his human eyes. It was a marvel that such a tiny wasp of a thing would be the vehicle to bring salvation to earth.

“Hello, Dean,” he said. _Welcome home, my little vessel._

* * *

He found her when he came home rocking in the nursery feeding Dean. The child's still tiny fists against her breast as his mouth worked and he wondered how they survived for so long being so helpless. All of his family had come about fully formed and functional; he wondered where Father had gotten the idea for this.

“Heya,” she said softly, taking her eyes off the child for a moment before watching him again.

He stooped down to kiss her head, watching Dean suckle, the quiet hum she made. She had a scent that he couldn't quite place, something beneath all the human things that made her species. She raised her face up again, those dark circles plaguing her under her eyes as Dean still insisted on being fed during the night. Last night, she had dozed while their son worked, listening to him drink in the semi-darkness. Michael had put the child back down, becoming fascinated for a couple of hours watching Dean just sleep against him, returning to her resting peacefully.

“What?” she asked her voice still quiet and at that moment he was startled to realize he wanted her. Of course, he could have her, he could have her at any point and it wouldn't even be by force. He could choose to make her forget if he just took her now while Dean fed and there was a strange sickening undertone to that thought.

“Do you want me to start dinner?” he asked instead, running his thumb over her chapped lips.

“Yes, please. I’m starving.”

A chaste kiss and he went back into the main part of the house, glad to be free of such feeling. For as long as he had lived it seemed as if time was slowing down the closer he got to the goal.

* * *

The one benefit of having to pretend he had working internal organs was that it gave him a few minutes out of each day to stand idly in a small room or a stall away from humans, often gaining quiet even if only on the mortal plane. The men of the garage were rowdy, one of them getting married soon, and a party they were all planning for tonight. He had been invited but fortunately had the excuse of a wife and small child at home. Many jokes had been made about him being tamed.

Michael leaned against the free-standing sink in this small room, trying not to pay attention to the multiple layers of grease and bacteria that always rested here.

He was a rational being, and it made the most sense to him to stay yet he despised being anywhere. No one knew his name and it was beginning to grow tiresome hearing the wrong address over and over, dozens of times a day, in a way he couldn’t identify. Mary and Dean looked at him and saw him as someone else, their affections and attention poured into a man who was no longer of earth. He was only a placeholder until the real John could return to finish this journey.

Flushing the toilet and running the water, counting down the seconds, he swung open the door, the full noise of the garage barreling down upon him, combining and mixing with the constant chatter of Heaven and all the prayers of the faithful.

Where he wanted to be he wouldn’t be wanted if his true name was known and it was a reminder that he must not get lost in what was to be accomplished. It was close, all of this finally drawing to an end, eons of waiting, and then Father would return.

Concentration on the task at hand was demanded and he blended back into the busyness, the phones ringing, customers talking, tools hitting together, the reports of Heaven flowing through him.

Some of the men were leaving and he forced himself not to think of Mary and Dean sitting at home eating lunch at a table she and he had picked out years ago that he found he didn’t like now.

* * *

Children had to be something inspired either by Lucifer or Gabriel he decided as he resisted yet another urge to steady Dean with his grace before the boy took a tumble. The boy had found that he could stand on those little feet and was determined with all his might to walk on them, even if he had to pull himself around on every edge he found. He was babbling happily, a thin strand of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth as his hair stuck out in every direction.

If he hadn't needed an age separation to fulfill the second’s destiny he would have made Sam and brought John back from heaven months ago.

There were sounds of running water in the kitchen, Mary singing to herself as she made lunch and he was wishing there were more hours in a workweek. Dean had managed to work his way past the other recliner, the no man's land of nothing to hold onto by the stairs, and caught the edge of the end table before his forehead crashed into it. Michael caught himself raising an eyebrow as the boy edged closer.

“Dada!” Dean suddenly proclaimed, raising both of his chubby fists in the air when he reached where Michael sat.

Michael froze almost long enough for Dean to tumble backward before he made himself move and catch the child, lifting him. “Yes, little monster, very good.”

Of course, Mary was there in a heartbeat as he swore that woman had the ears of a hawk.

“Did he?”

“Yes.” He made his face reflect the beaming happiness her own had over this. “Yes, Dean, dada.”

Dean, of course, being himself, wiped his thin stream of drool all over his shirt, thumped him in the face in excitement, and babbled. This, this, thing was his vessel and Michael schooled himself further as Mary went back to the kitchen and Dean attempted to climb up him.

“Alright, big boy,” he said, swinging the child up as they stood. “How about we wash up?”

Michael took the bubbled saliva coming between the boy's lips as a yes as they went to the kitchen themselves.

* * *

“How are you always sticky?”

The only response he got was splashing water and he sighed. Mary was out and he really wished she would stop doing that. Somehow, someway, while his back was turned for a moment trying to focus on Heaven, Dean had managed to find something gooey to roll in and now they were in an impromptu bath time. Stooped over the tub he figured that humans must not have their priorities straight if they felt this was a good design. Thirty seconds and he could already think of at least twenty improvements and wondered why Mary put up with it once Dean became too big to bathe in the kitchen.

At least he liked water. Well, Michael reflected, it seemed that way by the way Dean splashed and laughed as toys bobbed around him. Though, it did always seem that when it was time for a scheduled wash the boy howled all the way there half the time. The child stared up at him as though thinking, passed gas, and then laughed joyously at the bubbles it made.

Dear Father, this was his vessel.

Dean went back to splashing as he rinsed the soap and remaining mysterious substance out of his hair, not a care or burden to be seen. It was hard to rectify this innocence with the bitter, broken man still determined to not fall that he had seen. Or his brother who was trying to let go of hate and he reached over to pop the drain.

“Sorry little monster, bath time’s over.”

Dean made a displeased noise as Michael fetched a towel and gathered the boy up. For a moment he held him close despite himself, feeling the boy’s face press into his neck a small fist curled into his shirt. In the end, it did not matter. They would do what was set out before them and he walked out, turning out the bathroom light.

* * *

“You spend all this time working and now you want to go out for a few hours?” Mary's voice was a harsh whisper as their son was only a room away. “John -”

“I haven't been out in months. I just want a little bit of time that isn't this,” and he instantly knew those were the wrong words by the way her face went flat.

“If we're that much of a burden on you then go ahead. Maybe you can just stay the night since we're bogging you down.”

“Mary,” he tried, his voice rising a little but she was already gone, the bedroom door closing quietly behind her.

There was little left to do as when she became this angry it would take hours for her to calm down and speak rationally. All he had wanted was to be away from humanity for a bit and with this chance, he took his coat down for normalcy and spread his wings.

A rocky coastline greeted him, waves caught amid a storm that raged around him and not a human for miles. They would be safe for a while under wards they didn't even know existed while he got a hold of himself. This flesh was corrupting with its easy emotions, its quickness to react and he had to separate himself back out again. Remember who he was because Heaven did not need another lost angel or false path. There was only one path, the one road of righteousness, and they would walk it to the end.

Sam could not come soon enough.

* * *

Little fists pounded the small tray in dissatisfaction at the selection and he had half a mind to just put the child to sleep, damn the consequences. They hit, again and again, legs kicking wildly in the high chair and he cursed the babysitter and her flu. Mary had wanted to go out, and with a canceled sitter she still wanted that. She seemed more tired than normal and he was tempted to go into her mind and skim her thoughts. But the less grace he used on them both the better.

“No want!” Dean screamed in frustration and something broke a bit more in him.

“Dean, stop!” He could feel people looking at him as he grabbed the boy's wrists wanting to subdue him. This got him a stunned look before those eyes lit up and he knew what was coming. The child could mimic a siren when he so chose and now was one of those times as it echoed off the walls.

He glanced at Mary who seemed defeated, fork on her plate and he scooped Dean up and out of his chair, taking him outside. The boy continued to wail, thumping his small fists against him at the unfairness of being so small, and Michael tried bouncing him. What they did when he was tinier and just wanted to cry.

After a few minutes, it seemed to work, Dean relaxing more, the episode wearing off and he felt that little face buried in his neck. One little fist was opening and closing on his shirt as if to excise whatever leftover frustration was there.

“Dean.” He felt that head push closer and he kept bouncing. “Dean.”

“Da mad.”

“No, little monster,” but there was a head shake and Michael cursed himself for raising his voice. He could soothe the child angelically but he wanted normalcy. _Well here's your normalcy, angel_ he thought bitterly as he looked up at the sky. The child was afraid, he could feel it, and he wondered what Dean would do to even hear a tone of his actual voice. Outside of erasing all remaining love and replacing it with fear.

“Hey,” he said rubbing the back of that head. “How about we go back to mommy?”

There was a nod when he sensed Mary behind him, her hand on his back a moment later.

“Mommy's right here,” she said holding up a bag but somehow looking not as tired. “Why don't we go home and have a picnic, huh, big boy?”

“'K.”

“Mary,” he started but she brushed his lips with her fingers.

“It's okay. Just think it kind of overwhelmed him tonight. Come one, my two handsome men. Let’s go home.” Her arm wrapped around his waist as he held Dean and he let her lead them to the car.

* * *

She would die in time, believing that her husband would never know of her other life, the secrets she kept locked away, weapons hidden around the house, the small symbols she used by windows and doors that she passed off as, in her phrasing, ‘just a screwball family thing.’ There was a conviction in her that if she just believed hard enough, her past wouldn’t haunt her and they could have what she believed was normal.

That was until she had received a phone call early this morning and with his hearing, he listened as she whispered to an ‘old family friend’ she would come. A whirlwind of packing, offering excuses about an emergency yet managing to find ways to shrug away suggestions that he and Dean come with her.

He let her go.

As he sat in the darkness of late night he regretted the decision, wishing he had been insistent even if it had fractured her little world. His vision only went so far and he shifted, disliking not knowing if she was in mortal peril, but he couldn’t leave Dean alone.

Rising, he went to the boy’s room, Dean slumbering peacefully in a mess of blankets and tossed limbs. For the first time, he used his grace on his son to keep him asleep as he carefully picked him up, Dean ending up half sprawled against his chest.

She was easy to find, he always knew where she was, and he alighted, invisible to her sight in time to watch her be thrown to the floor of a collapsing barn. She was wild, lip bleeding, the fierceness of her as the creature that was little more than a human corrupted by Eve’s progeny came towards her. A mistake on its part as she collected her weapon and shoved it through its heart as it lunged for her, extinguishing its life here.

He was angry that she would be so reckless.

There had been two of these and her friend was making his way towards her from where he had killed the other, offering a hand off the floor. A small struggle on her part to get up and he could see other injuries in her but none were life-threatening.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mary answered, wiping at her bleeding mouth with the back of her hand as she stood unsteady on an injured leg. “Going to have to make up something up about a fall though. You?”

“The same or a little better. Don’t suppose you just want to burn the whole thing down?”

“Not really into lighting nature on fire by accident.”

The two helped each other limp out, Mary more injured than her companion who allowed her to lean on him. The night here was clear out in this land that had few things outside of small animals on it. He stroked Dean’s hair as the child slept on against him, Mary helped half into the front seat.

“That husband of yours going to be suspicious?”

“Don’t think so. Not like I come home all the time with weird bruises and cuts.” Mary let out a small sound, something made when she was thoroughly amused as she stretched her body to try to ease it. “Bastard threw me hard.”

“Definitely made a sound,” the man agreed, bringing her something for her cuts. “Isn’t John a vet? He’d probably get it if he saw it first hand.”

“Last hunt,” she said, her voice firm. “He’s been through enough, I’ve been through enough. Just want to be with him and my boy.”

“Got it bad, then.”

Mary let out a small laugh, drinking from a cup she had retrieved from somewhere within the car as the man pulled a shovel out of the trunk. Michael realized that he planned to make a small make-shift pit to burn the bodies. It was wise as neither were in good condition to be carrying around corpses that were near two hundred pounds apiece.

“No, you sit this out,” he said when she made to get up. “Need you functional to help me drag those carcasses out here.”

Another laugh and she leaned her head against the door frame, staring up into the night sky as the man continued to work, glancing over at her sometimes. Tangles of hair partially in her face, exhaustion all through her but she was relaxed, moving her leg sometimes to keep the muscles from stiffening.

“You really do got it bad.”

“Don’t get me wrong, John has his quirks, especially when he gets so distant at times but –“ she paused, eyes still taking in the night sky and Michael wondered what she saw up there. “I know he loves us.”

Her smile was soft, contentment, and Michael knew he shouldn’t have come as he held Dean close.

* * *

He felt her wake up slightly beside him and he closed his eyes as she rolled over in his arms. A moment later she was pressed up against him, working his mouth open with her own. A gentle push and she rolled him onto his back as he went willingly, opening his eyes some as she sat back straddling his hips.

“Mary?” he asked in a voice he hoped was close to human sleepiness.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too,” since that's what a husband would say, one that loves her and wasn't just watching Sam starting inside, far too small to be known by her.

She was working up his shirt as her mouth went back to him, trailing its way down his neck and he rolled his head back to give her access. He stared at the ceiling wanting to be numb, her body smooth and warm under his hands.

* * *

“When baby?” Dean demanded impatiently tugging on her shirt. She was just starting to show and Michael had to smile at Dean's insistence that Sam get here right now.

“Soon, baby, but still a ways away yet,” she told him, ushering him out into the front room to go play. “Have breakfast for you in a minute, big boy.” Dean was unhappy with that response as he stomped back out, little sneakers hitting as hard as they could in protest. “Another long shift?”

“Yep,” he said finishing his coffee which he had finally grown accustomed to. “Need the hours with another here soon.”

“I know it's just - “ her voice trailed off and she turned back to sink as he got up. Wrapping an arm around he kissed her head hoping it offered some form of comfort.

“It will get better,” he lied, though, for her, her troubles would be over fairly soon when her deal came due and the rest of everything was set in motion. “I got to get going.”

“I'll leave a plate in the oven for you.”

He nodded, patting Dean's head on his way out.

* * *

He drove them back, Dean asleep from all his excitement from going to a zoo for the very first time, Mary dozing a little herself, head against the door. Shadows caused by the passing headlights reminded him of images caught underwater, trapped in a current unseen to human eyes, forever flowing.

They would need to stop for gas soon but the temptation was in him to simply refill the tank and keep driving to not disturb them. There would be questions and the less grace, the less chance of there being problems in the future when the real John returned and he pulled off at the sign for the next station, Mary stirring a little.

“Be right back.” He kept his voice low to not arouse Dean more, the boy stirring slightly in the back but otherwise not waking.

There was a nod from her as he got out, quietly shutting the door before reaching for his wallet. The attendant on duty was in the booth, listening to a radio, and barely paid attention when he handed over the money. Nothing but human around them, safe for the time being, and he got the car ready, the actions still feeling foreign to him no matter how many years he had done them.

As he waited for it to finish, Mary looked up through the window at him and he smiled back at her, seeing the swell of Sam working on things inside to be ready in a few months. A car pulling up caught his attention but it was simply a man. Stars were barely visible through the lights of the city but he could still see them, knew them all, when they had been created, and watched their life cycles.

He glanced back in at them, Dean asleep and Mary starting to doze again and he tried not to think of that innocent soul within her that would be corrupted and tortured by his fallen brother to bring the end of this world. That Lucifer would ever touch his children –

The pump clicked and he put it back, righting everything before sliding back in.

“John?”

She was watching him, her mouth drawn tight, and he tried to look like the normal she expected as fingers brushed his face.

“I’m alright, just tired.”

“You need me to drive? I’ve slept a little.”

“Less than an hour to go, I’ve got it.”

She was still watching him, pressing a small kiss against his mouth, and managed a smile as he pushed that festering rage in him down a little more. He moved and kissed her a little firmer and she relaxed, though still unconvinced. Mary would leave him alone, figuring it was something from a war, and in a way it was.

She stayed close to him on the front seat, an arm around his shoulders as he pulled out.

* * *

She was sitting up in bed half dozing over the book she was trying to read, becoming big with Sam. Her hair shone in the light, a soft haze of golden blonde with Dean asleep in the other room. He knew then what was wrong. What had happened.

He made his way to her, pulling down the comforter a bit as she stirred, jumping slightly from her years as a hunter before she settled. Her nightgown was already pushed up by the sheets and he slid it the rest of the way over her belly, sliding his hands across her soft skin. Both their heartbeats beneath his fingers, their souls singing and he ducked his head, face pressed against her.

“John?”

“I can't.” It was the truth finally to himself. Why he stayed when he could have sent John back in and he kissed her stomach over and over again. This innocent soul poisoned, his own vessel in Hell, these little lives that were his, and he was meant to let this happen. Dear Father, forgive him.

“Honey, what is it?” Mary was more alert now and he felt her hand in his hair and he could go back. He could stop but already it was too late for that.

“I love you,” he said face still against her and he heard her hum. Before she could answer he allowed some of his grace to show as he raised his head. “Mary, I am not John.”

She was still fast yet nowhere near his speed but he let her take the knife behind the pillow she kept in secret, felt the blade enter as she scrambled to the other side of the bed. There was nothing but fear and revulsion as she looked at her options on how to get out. He pulled it out letting it drop with a slight thud against the carpeting.

“What the hell are you?”

“I have a story to tell you, Mary. One of Heaven, Hell, and of our children.”

* * *

He was not surprised when she told him to get out at the end of explaining it all, the color drained from her face.

Though he simply shifted past what her eyes could see as he watched her look around the room and then immediately run for the closet. A bag in hand, flinging clothes into it when she stopped and stared up at the ceiling.

“I'm running away from an angel. I don't think I can outrun that.”

Her laugh was haunting, like those lost to madness from hell before it turned to wracking sobs as she collapsed to her knees at the foot of the bed. Everything in him wanted to go to her, take her in his arms but he couldn't. This could not be forced or bribed. It was not something he could create and even if he tried it would be a hallow illusion, a trickster's mirror to appease his own wants.

“Mommy?”

Dean was in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and she held open her arms. Little feet stumbled across and he fell into her as she held him close, almost too tight.

“Mommy's big boy, aren't you?” she whispered, kissing his head. “Mommy's brave, strong little boy. I love you, baby. No matter what, I want you to remember that.”

She finally let Dean up to breathe after a few minutes, his face red and confused, tears in his own eyes as he looked around. “Daddy?”

“Daddy had to go away for a while. It's just you and me, little man. Think you can handle that?”

A small head nod and she pulled him against her again, Sam still within her, and he thought the feeling he’d had for so long might be shame.

* * *

Keeping up appearances felt futile but he did it. Going to work, renting a small rundown apartment to make it look as if he was human to everyone else. All he had to do was wave his hand and her memories would be gone, John could be returned and they could keep going. She would be happy until her death and the future that had come to see him would be what awaited him. Some cold part of him welcomed it, for all of this to be over. After everything, all this waiting, to finally be done and he could be free.

The thought of his blade through his little brother's heart whispered that he would never have that.

So he worked long hours and those few that knew of his situation told him it was just stress and most likely it would pass. That once Sam was here things would get better and he wanted to laugh and say that they would only get worse.

Her first prayer to him had been laced with unbridled fury. A heartbroken woman with her family cursed since long before her birth and she ranted at him, daring him to come back and finish destroying her for that's what he started.

They all varied after that from sorrow to anger to just grief while at times blaming herself but they rang through him louder than all the other prayers of the desperate he heard in the world each second. The cries of hundreds of millions, suffering, that his Father had created for this and which didn't understand. He had never understood this plan, this allowance of pain and fear. It had never been his place to question, only to obey.

Now he had disobeyed and it had gotten him nothing. He focused on Raphael and Heaven, they were marching closer to the inevitable and he knew the cliff was close.

* * *

_Michael_

Clear and strained her voice rang out in him and he immediately snapped his head up. He had promised her that he would not come unless she had need but it was hard to tell. He slipped away, flying to her since her anger did not seem like something that could get larger at this point.

There they were, Mary in the kitchen trying to get Dean's jacket on, the boy squirming all about when she doubled over and he already knew the problem. The bag for the hospital was by the door, the car keys on the table and he saw her wide eyes take him.

“You promised,” she spat. “You wouldn't come unless I asked.”

“You prayed,” he said gently, crouching down and getting Dean, who was happily chanting 'daddy daddy daddy' while trying to bounce in a circle, into his jacket. He could see all she wanted to do was snatch the boy away and run despite her labor as he picked up the child who clung to him. “Let me drive you to the hospital.” 

“I don't need you.”

“Mary, let me take you to go have Sam.”

“Sammy!” Dean squealed in glee, too young to understand the standoff around him.

“I can't stop you, can I?” The bite to her words was sharp as she pushed her way past him towards the door. He scooped up the bag, juggling the boy and it, and locked the house to drive them there.

* * *

Dean had done the miraculous, he had finally squirmed himself to exhaustion waiting. Sam took longer to arrive, his older brother waiting with little patience insisting that they needed to be there. In his mind, his little brother needed toys and games and an overabundance of Mary's pie. He wondered what his son would say seeing that tiny pinched face for the first time all red and wrinkled, tiny hands trying to work their way out of the swaddling.

Of all the ironies it was the same doctor working who walked towards them, smiling with an air of exhaustion.

“Mr. Winchester?” he tried, obviously picking up on some distant memory, and Michael nodded. “It was just long, with no complications. They're together now if you'd like to see them.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, careful not to jostle Dean awake as he stood, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

This time she was at the end of another hallway one that seemed emptier than the last but there was nothing here but humans and medical supplies. The smells of cleaners and death and life cycling through and he made himself calm. A nurse was leaving as they came in and he was grateful at that because she didn't see Mary's face. That stunned relief that they were still here as well as her abject fear.

“Mary,” he said quietly depositing the bag on the floor before taking a chair by the bed. Dean rearranged himself on his lap half-dazed before drifting off again. Sam was quiet, eyes closed, lips moving, and Michael muted himself, choosing not to see if it was just reflex or hunger. “I'm glad you both are well.”

“I thought you'd run off with him, take him away.” By her tone, she was still unsure.

All he needed at that moment was to wrap them all up in his wings, to be with them for eternity but that time had long since passed.

“They told me things went well.”

“Yes.” She paused, barely looking. “I'm terrified of you.”

“Mary, I -”

“Don't,” her voice slightly louder and Dean stirred a bit. “Don't tell me things or promises. You wore my dead husband, acted like him, made me think he was there and that he actually did love me. That you loved me. You treated us however you wanted and at any time could do anything to us and we'd have nothing to stop you. No way of even knowing that you did a thing at all.” She paused, her breaths fast and he saw Sam stir a bit at her distress. “What you've done I don't know if there's forgiveness for.”

“I understand.” She shook her head and if Dean had not glued himself resolutely to his person he would take flight and watch her from afar. He could shift the boy, tell her if she was in the need to pray, and still depart. There was some fragile piece of him left that remained after his brothers had ripped his love apart that wanted to know if somehow his mistake could be mended. That this, what he had done, could be fixed.

“Why?”

“Why, Mary?”

“Why even bother with us now? Why not just wipe my memory and let us go to your great master plan?”

“You recall when I told you Lucifer would not bow?” he asked her, seeing the slight nod under the brittle mask she wore. The one that promised she was about to break and he hated himself more. “I did bow but Father commanded something of us, from us. That we were to love humans above all, even Him. I bowed, Mary, but I did not do that. At least not until now.”

Her mouth open and closed in some sort of exhausted disbelief. “You can't – you don't mean that. Not like that.”

“I do. It's why I told you the truth, why I stay. Why you will always have my protection even if you cannot stand the sight of me. I will always love you but I know I have lost all rights to even a chance at having it returned.”

Her body was shaking, fully weeping, and Sam was firmly awake now whimpering in her arms. “Hush, hush it's okay,” she told him, her voice thick as she started singing.

All he could do was keep Dean still as she quietly cried herself out, her soul grieving as his comfort was the last she needed.

* * *

Dean was asleep against his shoulder, the boy barely a weight as he opened the door, Mary eyeing him warily. Sam was in her arms and he knew what was coming for them, what Mary had done to condemn her family without knowing at the time. He turned on the lights but Dean barely stirred. Walking past her he laid the boy down in bed, taking off his shoes and simply tucking him in. He had worn himself down over the past couple of days not understanding what was going on around him and it wouldn’t hurt him to sleep in his clothes. Knowing the child, he’d probably think it was a lucky privilege.

“How long?” Mary was behind him in the doorway, Sam in her arms with her bag over her shoulder.

“The consequences of your deal have to be dealt with. Then your life will return to what it was with your husband.”

She just nodded, mouth tight, as she looked at him before walking down the hall, the soft click of the bedroom door. Michael sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Dean slept, little hands curled up against him.

“You won’t go to Hell,” he promised, stroking Dean’s hair. “You won’t know that kind of pain. I give you my word on that.”

Still asleep, Dean moved closer to him.

* * *

Sam was crying. It was strange that Mary had not gotten him yet, though she was not well. If he hadn’t needed a vessel as strong as John to deal with Azazel and keep them safe he would have given her life back to her. Yet luring the demon to them was still the safest option and he worried she wasn’t eating, dark circles under her eyes growing deeper and darker, her skin getting a pallor, drawn and worn.

He pushed open the bedroom door and Sam’s face was red as he thrashed in his crib when he felt Dean behind him. Turning he could see the worry. Mary was sleeping through it, finally giving in to her body’s need for rest.

“Go back to your room,” he told his son gently. “Your brother’s just hungry. I’ll be there in a few minutes and we’ll read anything you want. How does that sound?”

A nod, those eyes staring up still worried as the little boy went back and Michael shut the door behind him. Picking up Sam who stilled at his touch, he realized this was the first time he had gotten to hold him. His little fragile body, pure and innocent and in no way deserving to be a vessel to his brother who would hate him probably far above any human. Because Sam was to be his conduit to take his vengeance and the fact he needed a human would disgust him.

“Mary,” he tried, not wanting to touch her since it would upset her more. “Mary, you need to wake up now.”

She stirred, not rousing yet, murmuring something as Sam’s pinched face looked ready to scream again. He was hungry, it was simple to solve if he wanted to.

“Mary.”

Her eyes opened and there was unmitigated panic in them before he offered Sam to her. She took the child, skittering to the other side of the bed, eyes never leaving him. He already knew he wasn’t welcomed here so he left her, closing the door quietly behind him before keeping his promise to Dean.

* * *

“I need some answers.”

It was early morning and she was still in her nightgown, baby monitor in hand as she came into the kitchen. He nodded as she sat at the table, her eyes colder and more focused now. She still wasn’t eating much but enough to keep her up and able to care for her children. It wouldn’t be much longer and her ordeal would be dealt with.

“You may ask what you like.”

She pushed her hair back, glancing at the monitor than the doorway, most likely checking for Dean who had a habit of waking early. “They’re human?”

“Yes.”

“And you possessed my dead husband because why, again?”

“At the time, to ensure they would be born, that the prophecy would be held.”

She rested her chin on her hands and there was grief in the way the corners of her mouth turned, the lines by her eyes forming more. Deep breaths as she leaned back, looking at him. “And now? What are your plans for them?”

“To prevent that.”

“Because you just suddenly love us?” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”

“No, it took years for me to understand.”

“All this time, this one big lie that you were John and that we were reasonably happy and I can’t,” she stopped trying to handle herself as Michael watched her. “You played house with us like we were a bunch of dolls to you. You lied to my face for years and then proclaim you love me. That you love us.”

“The only thing I can do now is to keep all of you safe.”

“What’s the price? I mean,” and she laughed, something strangely cruel, “everything has one, doesn’t it?”

“There is none. I would like to spend time with both of them before I go but it is up to you.”

“And you just won’t grab them? Cart them off if your feelings get hurt.”

“I give you my word.”

“But that’s not worth very much right now is it,” she said, getting up, picking up the baby monitor, and walking out. She was shaking, waiting for the wrath of Heaven to come down on her head but he would not hurt her for speaking the truth.

Instead, he diverted his eyes down at the table they had picked out together years ago, Dean’s enthusiastic use of crayons evident still in places that made him like it a little more.

* * *

“No, Sammy,” Dean said and it was clear the boy was frustrated. Sam was merely trying to pick things up, just learning of sitting and grabbing. Dean was having none of it, wanting his brother to do things right.

This, of course, just made Sam wail at the top of his lungs.

Michael moved onto the carpet with them, gathering Sam into his arms who quieted quickly, burbling something as he made himself comfortable. Dean’s expression was stormy, laced with hurt and exasperation at the world around him and he dodged Michael’s arm.

“Little Monster, he’s just a baby.”

“He needs to be big.” The way Dean said it made him smile. That he just demanded his brother be big enough to play with him and do more than wave his chubby little arms and ooze fluids. Something in him was drawn so tight remembering how Dean had been, little fingers holding onto him as Sam did the same now.

“You have to wait a little longer –“

“Been waitin’ forever,” the boy complained, clipping words and crossing his arms in a huff. “He just screams and poops.”

Not that Michael didn’t consider this a fair assessment.

“And – and he stuffs my stuff in his mouth. And drools, –“ Dean pressed his little fists against his thighs.

“Dean, do you know what we do with things that are smaller than us?”

Dean shook his head, his anger evaporating a bit as he squinted his eyes.

“We protect them. Do you understand?” Michael asked him and Dean’s face did something complicated that the archangel couldn’t name as their emotions at times still surprised him. “To keep him safe. It’s a very important job that’s yours.”

This time Dean did allow Michael to wrap an arm around him and pull him close, Sam sucking on his collar. The boy did have a point about babies, everything seemed to go into their mouths.

“Kay,” was what Dean got out as Michael stroked his hair. “Sammy a brat though.”

“Is a brat and so were you at his age, little monster.” There was a huff of air, something like a weak protestation, and Michael decided to cut it off before it got to be full steam. Dean could be a force of nature when he wanted to. “Why don’t you two watch a show?”

He got them propped against the couch, Sam in Dean’s lap who was back to being his happy self blowing spit bubbles. Which got a ‘gross’ from Dean as he found something appropriate for them to let them be still as their nap time was coming up.

“Watch,” Dean demanded, hugging his brother close.

He nodded, glancing at the doorway, knowing that Mary was there. She often was close when he was with them. Sitting beside them, letting Dean doze after a while against him, Sam still trying to take in the world but not squirming. He would miss these moments.

* * *

“An illusion,” he told her as she looked at Sam’s crib, the image of a child sleeping there that was sleeping with Dean in the next room under his protection. “It will work for as long as we need it. Mary, this will be easier if I can touch you.”

She nodded and he laid a hand on her, slipping them both past the vision of the demon who would be coming soon, a small gasp escaping her. It was quiet, he could hear the heartbeat of their children nearby, the song of all of their souls, and Azazel being gone would ensure their safety somewhat. The plan his brother had originally given to the demon would be decimated and at least his soul would still be pure.

Then the demon was there, smiling terribly at the child in the crib he thought he was desecrating, Mary’s rage at both it and herself palatable in the room. Before she could do something foolish he pulled his weapon, pushing his sword of fire through the demon’s black core. A look of surprise, something like betrayal, then the soul of the body he had possessed was freed as everything else was burned to cinders, a black smudge on the wall and floor. Michael waved a hand and all of that, along with the illusion of Sam, was gone.

“Jesus,” she breathed out. “I have to go check –“

She was out in the hallway and into the bedroom and he let her go. She needed to know the children were safe and she sat with them, Sam pulled up in her arms, Dean rather disgruntled and slightly awake.

“Is it over?”

“That part is,” he told her crouching in front of her where she sat on the edge of the bed. “When I do this, Mary, you won’t remember but I am going to give you knowledge on how to protect yourself, you and they will be marked.”

He yearned to look into the time-ways but they only offered an array of possibilities that could be altered by the simplest of changes. It was a lesson he had learned long ago when planning all of this, that he could not abide by what was seen through that sight, it was only a guide.

Even more so as he had never seen the possibility of this outcome.

“Mom?” Dean was only slightly more awake and just grasping at the threads that something was wrong.

“It’s okay baby,” she told him, stroking his hair. “Everything is okay. Michael,” and there was fear in her voice as she took him in like she didn’t want to say something that had to be said. “Is John in heaven?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t bring him back.” Her voice broke. “The deal is void.”

“Mary?”

“It would make this, all of this an even bigger lie. I can’t live in that anymore. I never should have made the deal that brought us here. I know that I can’t stop you if you still want to do what we planned on, but we need to remember.”

Michael stared at her, trying to see a little more into her mind, and found she was convinced of this. In many ways, he did agree with her. He could push and pull memories, but never fully wipe them from a soul, and the damage done if she did wake up one day knowing was great. It had always been the greatest risk of this plan with John and he could still undo all of it, cycle them back and begin again.

He couldn’t give up his children, even if they grew to hate him.

“If that is how you wish it.”

A deep breath, grief, and relief all at once. “Promise me, after this, you won’t use your powers on me again unless I directly ask you to.”

“I give you more word.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

“You will have my protection always, regardless if you can,” he said and she shook her head and he realized she was crying. “I am truly sorry for what I have put you through.”

He caught Dean’s thoughts, that fear that he was leaving forever, Mary staring at him with something that wasn’t only guilt and rage as he expanded himself, weaving a new life for her and their children, even if it was one that he would only watch from afar.


End file.
